Falling Sky

by Lisa Swallow

  He pauses. “Piggy back?”

  “In this?” I gesture at the tight, short dress.

  “Good point, don’t want a paparazzi shot of your backside! Take them off. The car isn’t far.”

  “I hope you meant my shoes.” I pull my heels off and run along the road after him, hoping there’s nothing nasty on the ground.

  In the car, I rub my feet and examine them for injury.

  “Sorry, you didn’t hurt yourself?” he asks turning the ignition.

  “No. Why run out like that? We weren’t getting any hassle.”

  “Because this way we don’t have to slink off home straight away when we leave. They’d target us if they noticed, the quicker we got out, the better. This would be an exclusive for them, Dylan Morgan and Sky Davis together again.”

  I touch his cheek, as if grounding myself into his reality. “Dylan and Sky.”

  He takes my hand and kisses my palm. “Where should we go? Do you like clubbing?”

  I snap my head back. “Dylan. Do you even know me? What do you think the answer to that is?”

  “Well, the library isn’t open or I’d take you there.”

  “Ha-ha.”

  “Okay, let’s just drive and see where we end up.”

  The car crawls along the London streets, through Soho. As we pass a line of nightclubs, Dylan slams the car brakes. I follow his line of vision and spot an altercation outside a building lit by huge blue neon lights. The Viper Room. Several photographers surround a man who’s flailing around in the middle of the crowd.

  “Shit. Jem.”

  Dylan pulls the car over and jumps out. Heart in my mouth, I watch as Dylan wades into the middle of the scrum. Jem’s fist makes contact with a face and one of the photographers falls back heavily, landing on his back. Dylan grabs Jem and pushes his way back out, all the time cameras flashing to capture every image.

  Dylan gestures at me to open the door; I lean backwards and pull the catch. No way am I getting out of this car. He bundles Jem into the back of the car, and as the press swarm over the car like killer bees, Dylan climbs inside and accelerates away.

  Jem groans and through the rearview mirror I can see his split lip, which I think is karmic after the pain he’s caused us.

  “What the fuck, man?” yells Dylan, glancing in the mirror at Jem too.

  “Fucking look at me! The bastard punched me!”

  “Unprovoked?” sneers Dylan.

  “Yeah, I might have smashed his camera.”

  “You punched him back you idiot. Nice one, criminal damage and assault. Call Steve.”

  “Oh, man… No. Wait till we get home.”

  “Home?”

  “Take me back to yours? It’s closer.”

  His face appears between the seats. “Little lady Sky won’t mind, will you?”

  I gag at the strength of whiskey on his breath. Meeting Jem again wasn’t something I looked forward to, and a drunken Jem in close proximity to me isn’t pleasant. I turn away and shift toward the window in case he touches me, accidentally or deliberately.

  “Were you on your own tonight?” Dylan asks Jem as we pause at a red light.

  “Nah. The rest of the guys were inside.”

  “What were you doing on your own then?”

  “There was this girl. And this guy who thought I was hitting on his girl and I kinda asked him to take things outside.”

  Dylan gently hits his head on the steering wheel. “Fuck, you idiot. I think you got set up.”

  “My mouth fucking hurts.” He lifts his head to check himself in the mirror.

  I hunch down in the seat, checking the side mirrors expecting to see others in pursuit. No one. Perfect end to a perfect evening.

  ****

  The apologetic look Dylan throws me as we pull into the underground car park of his apartment complex does nothing to soften my mood. The snoring from the rear of the car irritates me further. Dylan looks over his shoulder at his comatose friend.

  “What do we do with him?”

  “Phone your manager!” I hiss.

  Dylan pulls the sleek black car into his allocated space, beneath the apartments. “I’ll text him.”

  “What the hell?” I run my hands through my hair and hold my hand out. “Give your phone to me!”

  Warily, Dylan passes the phone and I scroll his contacts for Steve. Only 11pm and the evening is over.

  A gruff Steve answers the phone and silence replies when I tell him who it is. There’s a brief exchange about the fuckwit in the car (and I’m mostly talking about Jem here, although Dylan’s sense in dragging us into Jem’s assault situation doesn’t strike me as sensible). Dylan stares, eyes widening each time I cut dead Steve.

  Smacking the screen to cancel the call, I shove the phone at Dylan. “He’s aware. Talking down police involvement. Can we go inside now?”

  He takes the phone, shaking his head as he watches me. “You’re amazing.”

  “Just get your friend out of the car before we have a Jimi Hendrix rock star death-in-own-vomit situation,” I snap, throwing open the car door.

  Our first official Dylan and Sky date screwed up by the guy who hates me.

  Once we’re back in the apartment, I kick off my shoes and pad across the shining marble floor to the fridge. Champagne. I’m acquiring a taste for the stuff, beats bottles of ‘sparkling wine’ from Asda. Life with rock stars should include champagne, right?

  Dylan hauls his friend onto the sofa; Jem is in a semi-conscious state after being moved from the car.

  “I see you’ve had practice?” I retort.

  Jem pushes himself up and blinks at his surroundings. “Get me a drink, dude.”

  “You’ve had enough, Jem. Go sleep it off in the spare room. Wait there.” Dylan strides along the tiled hallway to the other side of the apartment.

  Yawning and dragging hair from his eyes, Jem focuses in my direction. He rubs his nose then stretches his fingers toward me. “What do you have, summer Sky?”

  “Have?”

  Jem hauls himself to his feet and my heart rate jumps to match. Surely, he won’t touch me.

  “How come you’re back? You gonna screw him over?”

  I grip my glass. “You’re the one screwing him over, dragging him into crap like tonight.”

  Bumping his backside onto the sofa arm, Jem frowns in the way drunk people do who are trying to remember what they were going to say. I focus on one of Dylan’s strange pieces of artwork spanning the wall behind Jem, a spiral of bronze and silver metal several metres wide. Communicating with Jem is inadvisable and pointless and I opened my big mouth. Great.

  “And you’re okay with what he did?”

  “Are you talking about Lily?”

  He rubs his face. “Yeah, her. Didn’t she talk to you?”

  “You know she did.”

  “And you’re okay with it?”

  “Okay with what?” Dylan reappears with a duvet in his arms.

  “You and the delectable Lily.”

  “Shut up, Jem. You’re drunk.”

  “We should all have a nice, cosy chat about her. What do you reckon?”

  “Shut the fuck up.” Dylan crosses to Jem and drags him to his feet by the shirt. “I almost got pulled into your stupidity tonight, just go away and sober up.”

  The two men glare at each other. Dylan’s back is to me, figure stiff. Jem flicks his eyes to me, grins drunkenly, and then claps Dylan on the back.

  “Night then, kids.”

  I watch Jem wobble down the hallway toward the end of the apartment I’m staying in, then turn back to a frowning Dylan.

  “Is he sleeping near me?” I ask.

  “Oh. I didn’t think. You don’t want to be around him?” The look I give him indicates the stupidity of his question. “Sleep in my room.”

  “I don’t think…”

  Dylan touches my face. “On your own, I’m not presuming you want to share a bed with me.” His eyes flick to breasts spilling over the d
ress and I shove him. He smirks and bites his lip. “Sorry, Sky, but you know how much you turn me on.”

  My brain shouts ‘you’re not ready to trust him yet’ but my body flares into arousal at the hint of suggestion around this. “Jem’s dragged stuff up, Dylan.”

  “I understand.” He huffs and leans against the edge of the sofa. “Not quite the end to our date I was hoping for.”

  “Me either.” I hover, unsure of the situation. I want to kiss him so much, but I’m scared of letting myself give in to the swirling hormones that will lead me to his bed. I’m already locked back into Dylan’s orbit, but there’s a huge trust issue in the way. Not the accusations, which I believe aren’t true, but the fact he didn’t tell me and ran instead. I’m vulnerable and unsure.

  “I enjoyed tonight,” he says. “Being with you turns the brightness up on the world.”

  The darkness hovering around Dylan is still apparent, but he’s relaxed, or he had until Jem appeared.

  “You’re good to him,” I say, indicating the direction Jem disappeared with my head.

  “Yeah, he’s the same age as me but like the kid brother I never had. Tomorrow I’m going to get him to tell you his side of the truth. Then we can draw a line through this and move on?” He watches me warily.

  “Please, let’s not go there tonight.” I step toward Dylan and place my lips on his. He stiffens in surprise and then winds an arm around my waist, kissing me gently back again. I want him to be my Dylan, the guy who turns my insides out with just a look, whose touch makes me feel safe. I expect insistent kisses, but he pulls away and grips me to him, burying his face in my hair.

  “I bought strawberry shower gel when I was away,” he whispers, “because I wanted something to remind me of you when things felt bad and your hair always smells of strawberries. Is that weird?”

  “I told you I liked you because you were odd.” I rub my face against his shirt, the warmth of his chest against my cheek. How bad are things? He’s different, a paler version of himself that tugs at my heart.

  Dylan laughs softly and tips my chin to kiss me again. This time I push my mouth harder against his, tugging his bottom lip because I want him to know not to stop this time. He groans and holds me tighter, tongue delving into my mouth. The space between us isn’t filled with heavy clothing like in the car the other night, and Dylan’s heart beats against mine, thumping rapidly in rhythm. In that moment, in our world, nothing else matters.

  “You guys. So cute.” Jem’s drunken slur interrupts us.

  Dylan’s hands scrunch around my dress as he exhales heavily, and lets me go. I wipe my mouth and look at the floor. Never one for PDAs, this is weird. Is Jem going to haunt us now?

  “Just getting a drink,” says Jem.

  I don’t turn to him, but the chink of glass suggests he doesn’t mean water.

  “Fuck, Jem, haven’t you had enough?” asks Dylan.

  “Nope. Night.”

  I turn to see Jem wandering back down the hallway with a bottle of whiskey and a glass in one hand.

  “Does he realise what a cliché he is?” I ask.

  “I don’t think he realises who he is at all.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Dylan

  I sleep in the bed Sky slept in the night before, the scent of her driving me to distraction. Her strawberry hair scents the pillow, the sheets covering me once covered her and I imagine her curves imprinted on them and covering me. If I were certain I wouldn’t get a slap, I’d attempt to climb into my bed with her.

  We sat together last night; I fought with myself not to replicate the night on the sofa at the beach house in the summer. Or the kitchen. Or afterward. Sky was on edge after the encounter with Jem, startling at any noise. There’s no way she’d have responded to any attempt by me to get my hands on her. But I’m scared of frightening her away when I’m on the edge of getting her back; I need to wait.

  Fucking Jem ruining this because I had to help him. I couldn’t drive past and leave him in a situation where he could get arrested - or end up in hospital. Now he owes me for getting Steve off his back, he’ll have to agree to talk. He needs to explain to Sky why he went to Lily and asked her to talk to Sky, and confirm to Sky that I’m telling the truth.

  After discussing the future with Sky, my mind has turned back to the situation with the band; we need to get together and talk without Steve. Perhaps then I won’t have to walk away permanently, we could plan time apart and not end Blue Phoenix. Steve has caught on; he saw me talking to Bryn. He has taken steps to ensure the band stays apart or that he’s around. Separate rooms, staff around all the time, and the continuing divide between Jem and me prevent any opportunity to discuss a future outside of the current world. I told Bryn, I couldn’t go on like this. We take control or I lose mine completely. I haven’t confided in anyone else, only Myf, and now she knows the full extent of my fucked up head, she’s threatening to interfere.

  Sky isn’t around, presumably still asleep, when I wander to the back of the house. Ten am. Jem is slumped in one of the armchairs, also asleep, glass in hand and I watch him for a few moments. I don’t have the energy to give him what he needs; I lost the ability to do that long ago when his life would suck the energy from me. Jem’s empty, filling his soul with drugs and alcohol because he has no one. How did we get here from being inseparable most of our lives? I hated him for months after what he did to Sky and me, but what’s the point? He’s a pathetic mess.

  I poke him with my bare foot. “Sleeping beauty, wake up.”

  He starts and almost drops the glass, before blinking at me and groaning. “What?”

  The bleary face and bloodshot eyes age him; the swollen mouth from the punch last night adds to the vision of fucked-up rock star.

  “How’s your face?”

  He touches the bruised lip and winces. “Was that you?”

  “No. You got some grovelling to do to Steve. Fighting outside nightclubs, you dick.”

  I walk away to the kitchen and Jem, surrounded by a cloud of stale booze, follows. “Shit,” he says.

  “Yeah, you owe me. I dragged you out before the police arrived and you ended up in a cell.”

  “Steve knows?”

  “Yeah, thank Sky for talking him down.”

  Jem rubs his eye with the heel of his palm. “Sky? When was she back on the scene?”

  “Shit, Jem. Don’t you remember anything about last night?”

  “Up to a certain point, yeah.”

  Turning to the coffee machine, I root around in the cupboard for beans, hoping Myf hasn’t used them all. She has a habit of using all my stuff and not replacing anything.

  “You think I’m going to talk to you about Sky?” I say, not looking back round.

  “I apologised, man. I shouldn’t have done gone to Lily.”

  We had this conversation once before, the week after I arrived in LA for the tour. The press nearly had the Blue Phoenix story of the year; I was close to putting the dickhead in hospital for contacting Lily and fucking up the best thing that’s happened to me in years. The biggest insult, he said he couldn’t remember contacting Lily. Later, Jem admitted he did remember. I wouldn’t call admitting to contacting her an apology, but this prevented me bringing myself to his level and punching him.

  Beans located, I switch the machine on and turn back to Jem. “I told Sky the story about Lily; I want you to tell her your side.”

  He makes a derisive noise. “Why should I do that?”

  “Because it’s time we put this to rest, Jem. Three years ago and look at this. Give me a fucking break.”

  Jem’s semi-sober state allows him to register some of what I’m saying, but I don’t think he’s ready to hear the truth. Instead, he regards me silently.

  “Let go of the anger, Jem. Sort yourself out before you fucking kill yourself.”

  “I’m okay as I am.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. Live fast, die young, and all that shit.”


  I shake my head in despair, wishing someone, he didn’t dislike as much as me, could reach out to him. “We can’t go on like this. Steve’s strangling the life out of the band. Out of us.”

  “Don’t start that shit again.” He pulls himself forward and heads back out of the room.

  “Morning, summer Sky!” Jem’s voice full of false pleasure at seeing her carries back into the kitchen. I step out after him, concerned what will happen next.

  The look on Sky’s face indicates I don’t need to worry; she carries a tired disdain in the curl of her lips and straight posture. Freshly showered, her damp hair is pulled back into a ponytail. She’s dressed in black leggings and a long grey jumper, her curves hidden. Seeing Sky pushes the desire to hold and comfort her above everything else, so I can’t resist going over and sliding an arm around her waist.

  I kiss her softly on the mouth. “Sleep okay?”

  Her pupils dilate as she looks at me. “Kind of.” Did she picture me naked in bed like I did her?

  “Dylan says he wants me to tell you a story.” Jem smirks. “Funny, I offered to tell you months ago but no one would listen.”

  “Did you?” she asks me.

  “Final puzzle pieces,” Jem says.

  “I just woke up,” groans Sky and pushes past into the kitchen.

  “Not a morning person, huh?” asks Jem. “I’m with her on that one.” He begins to head back toward the other end of the apartment and I put a hand on his arm. He shrugs it off. “Don’t touch me, man.”

  “You talk to us before you get wasted again or I’m calling Steve and asking him to come and get you.”

  “I’ll tell her everything, Dylan,” he says in a low voice. “And I mean everything.”

  I’m willing to take the risk; I told her everything there is to say, but Jem’s spin on things will be different.

  ****

  Sky

  The animosity between Jem and Dylan has a strange tinge this morning. Maybe because Jem is sober? Or as sober as he gets, I imagine. He looks ill. Really ill. I know Dylan looks dodgy now, but I can see why he’s worried about his friend. The fact I’m a source of conflict between them and I’m with them in Dylan’s apartment leaves me uncomfortable. What is their relationship now?